Doors
by Mele
Summary: Blair reflects on the importance, and significance, of doors...


**_Disclaimer:_** _I don't own 'em, I'll give 'em back upon demand, I ain't got anything worth taking and I ain't getting anything._

 ** _Notes/Timeline/Warnings:_** _Hmm…early second season, perhaps. Minor spoilers for a couple of episodes – very minor. No warnings, really. A pretty harmless little story, all-in-all. March 2004._

 **Doors**

By Mele

"Come on, man, move. You make a better door than a window, you know," Blair groused at his roommate who stood in front of the television set while watering one of their numerous houseplants.

Jim gave his friend a wry look. "I haven't had someone tell me that since Grandma Ellison used to come visit. Showing your age there, Junior," he grinned, taking pleasure in continuing to block Sandburg's view of the documentary he'd been so engrossed in.

"Yeah, well, some truths are universal and ageless. Now MOVE!" the younger man retorted, tossing a pillow at his snickering tormentor.

"When I feel like it," Ellison smirked, catching and throwing the soft projectile right back at the grad student without spilling a drop of water.

"Jiiiiiiim…" Sandburg whined, turning on the exaggerated puppy dog eyes.

"From grandmother to irritating brat in less than twenty seconds. Might even be a new world's record," the Sentinel mused, standing firm.

"Wanna see how fast I make the switch to homicidal maniac?"

"Well, the maniac part I've seen before," Jim snorted, finally moving away from the TV. "Can't say as how it impressed me."

"The 'homicidal' aspect gives it a whole new meaning," Blair declared, his attention back on the documentary. He gave out a theatrical groan and leaned his head back onto the couch in defeat as a commercial came on. "Damnit."

Jim's snicker floated back from the kitchen, causing the disgruntled grad student to aim a glare at the self-satisfied man whose only response was to laugh louder. "Timing is everything," he bragged, even as he pulled two beers out of the fridge and headed in to join his roommate on the couch.

"Thanks, man," Blair grinned, tipping his beer toward Jim before taking a sip.

The two men settled back, watching TV in companionable silence. A baseball game followed the documentary, then the evening news before bed.

Blair entered his small bedroom and turned to pull the door shut behind him. The soft snick of the portal fully closing caught his attention, and he found himself studying the doors, remembering how pleased he'd been when he came home and found Jim had installed them.

"Just thought you'd like a little more privacy, since it seems you're going to be staying here a while," the big man had demurred when Blair had expressed his gratitude. "Besides, improvements like this just add to the value of the property."

The grad student hadn't been fooled by the detective's comments; he knew it was as close as he was ever likely to get to an actual invitation to hunker down and stay a while. Blair understood that somehow the detective had realized how important it was to his companion to have at least the appearance of privacy. True, with a Sentinel in the apartment, actual seclusion just wasn't possible; not with a roommate who could hear a bug burp at fifty paces. But Sandburg had appreciated the gesture and just the sight of the French doors gave him a warm feeling.

He settled down on his bed, his gaze lingering on the closed portal to his small room. ' _Doors_ ,' his mind commented lazily, drifting easily to that pre-sleep stage where ideas and concepts flowed most readily _. 'What is it about doors?'_

Even nearly asleep his mind worked in professorial mode, setting out the facts. Doors served two purposes; to let things in or out, and to keep things in or out. Open, they represented an invitation. Closed, they were the barricade against intrusion - however ineffective. Unbidden, memories of watching the loft's front door shatter under Lash's attack played out against the back of his eyelids. What had once provided a measure of comfort - an illusion of security - took no more than one strong kick to splinter.

Maybe what he'd said earlier was true; Jim made a better door. When Lash took him, it was Ellison who saved him, who protected him. When Brackett waylaid them in the loft, Jim actually physically acted as a barricade, tucking his roommate behind him. And when Blair's world was shattered by a drug lab exploding, the Sentinel offered him a refuge; a place of security to be until he was back on his feet. Well, okay, maybe he didn't exactly 'offer' Blair a place to live, but once the kid talked him into it he'd been anything but stingy.

A sleepy smile crossed Blair's face as he considered his best friend; Sentinel, detective, former Covert Ops Ranger, and door. It was true; the man did a better job keeping the evils of the world at bay than any construction of wood and metal. And no physical door could keep out the terrors that stalked the dream world; but James Ellison could. After Lash - during that horrible three weeks during which Blair's dreams were more often than not replays of the events in that eerie warehouse - Jim never failed to respond to the younger man's distress. One particularly bad night found Blair waking up to discover he was clinging to the older man's arms, doing his level best to burrow right through Ellison's sternum. Even as he faintly blushed with the memory, he could not recall any time in his life he'd felt safer and more protected than that dark night.

Even the memory of David Lash could not make it through the blockade Jim provided.

But what of the other function of a door - to let things in? Well, obviously the detective had let Blair in his home and into his life. But he'd done much more than that. Jim had provided a door to a whole different way of living and being than Blair had experienced before. Sandburg's past was full of freedom, adventure, exploration, impermanence. Going with the flow. Accepting the world as his home. Sidestepping rules and authority whenever possible - being his 'own person.'

Then Jim opened to him a world of strict rules, firm authority, routine and permanence in abundance. A world where what Blair did and what he knew could save or cost someone's life - the ultimate responsibility. And much to the grad student's surprise, he found he flourished in that world. For the first time he knew where he was going to be the next week, and the week after that. He had a place he called 'home' with a person he called 'brother'. He was surrounded by men and women who worked on the side of justice, trying to make the world a better place to live, one arrest at a time. He learned that those his mother and her friends called 'pigs' were people just like him with strengths and faults and virtues and weaknesses who put their lives on the line every day they went on duty.

For the first time he had real life heroes who had names and identities and he'd 'gone native' without a regret.

That wasn't the only thing the Jim Ellison door let in; Blair was constantly learning more about the man himself. It wasn't a quick process; it took every bit as much time and patience as any archeological dig, and provided treasures beyond measure. And Sandburg was fully aware that letting him get close was a act of trust on the older man's part; a trust he worked hard to prove himself worthy of. It wasn't an easy world he found himself in, but it was more rewarding than any he'd encountered before.

 _'So, there you have it,'_ his barely aware mind provided. _'Proof positive; James Joseph Ellison is the best damned door you've ever had in your life.'_

And up above in his bed a satisfied smile crossed Jim's face as he heard his Guide's soft voice wafting up from below.

"Thanks for the door, man."

The End.


End file.
